


Turn It Up

by eggnogged



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggnogged/pseuds/eggnogged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless PWP featuring music and wanking. >.></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Turn It Up

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by the ever-fantastic and long-suffering J.

It’s been too long since Jones has had any sleep, but he’s feeling wired and wound up, and a night behind his decks hasn’t helped. He can’t get anything right; the sounds are all wrong, clashing and clawing or repelling each other like magnets and it’s maddening. He got a big gig coming up, and he needs something harsh and incendiary for it, something that will set the room ablaze, but he can’t find it, nothing works.

It’s Dan. When the rhythm goes awry in the House of Jones, it’s always about Dan. He’s been frustrated lately, struggling with some kind of Existential Dan Angst, and it’s been building, creating this crackling tension between them that he’s clearly unwilling to address – Jones had thought it might have reached a breaking point the week before, when Dan came home drunk and backed Jones into a corner, palming his cock through his trousers and mumbling nonsense in his ear. But then he’d backed away suddenly, vomited all over Jones’s brand new boots, and passed out at his feet. Neither of them had mentioned the event afterwards, and instead of easing off, the tension had only climbed up another notch.

Fucking _Dan_.

Jones lets out a harsh sigh and moves back from his equipment, turning off all the machines until the whirring of fans and the buzz of old electronic instruments dies off and gives way to a deafening kind of silence. He pads over to his bedroom and sheds his sweaty, manky clothes, stripping down to his boxers. He pulls the curtains closed, then moves over to the bedside table, searching through a pile of CDs until he locates one of his own mixes. It’s an old one, one from a less fucked up period of his life – pre-Dan – and Jones jams the disc into his CD player, hoping to recapture a bit of his old inspiration, remember how good he _can_ be when everything is right. He shoves his headphones over his ears and cranks up the volume, throwing himself down on his unmade bed.

He listens to the opening sample and closes his eyes, and somehow, it doesn’t matter that this bit of music should have no association with Dan fucking Ashcroft because he’s there again, looming in between the chords, impossible to ignore. Jones growls in the back of his throat and turns the music up even louder until he can feel it thrumming through his entire body.

The sample breaks into a clangy guitar riff and Jones has a sudden vision of Dan, there with him, crowding him against the mattress like he crowds into all of his thoughts, with his lips against the pulsing heartbeat in Jones’s neck and his warm hand sliding into Jones’s pants.

He’s getting hard, and he would feel guiltier about fantasizing about his mate if he wasn’t so irritated with him in the first place. Fucking Dan and his fucking _issues_ , fuck him for messing with his head, and, more importantly, fuck him for messing with his _work_.  
  
Jones re-adjusts the headphones around his ears, focusing on the beat of the bass drum as he snakes his hands down his chest, one hand grazing his nipple and the other squeezing his hardening erection through the thin cotton of his pants.

What would Dan do if he saw him now?

Jones groans quietly, struggling out of his pants, and settles back against the pillows, allowing his mind to wander. He imagines Dan’s eyes and the unnerving way he has of looking at Jones, and how it would be intensified now by arousal, pupils dilated as he lets his eyes roam. He imagines Dan’s hands, his wide shoulders, his cock, flushed dark and erect against his stomach. Jones lets his legs fall open, moves his hands down to his stomach, imagines Dan’s callused fingers trailing down his flanks, drumming lightly along the ladder of his ribs to the rhythm of the music, imagines his lips trailing wetly behind.

Dan’s lips would be warm and wet, and the air would feel cool against Jones’s skin in the wake of his kisses. Dan would take his time, would tease and draw out the anticipation, he would enjoy making Jones squirm, would revel in the power he had over him.

Fuck, he’s really hard now. The steady bass drum in his ears is followed by a sequence of crashing chords, and Jones can feel it coursing through his veins, the familiar sounds providing the backbeat to his fantasy, guiding Dan’s every gesture. A scratchy loop of feedback and Dan is twisting Jones’s nipple between his fingers, a wail of brass and he’s biting gently on a jutting hipbone, a tinny sample of breakbeat and Dan is crawling further down Jones’s body, breathing hotly against Jones’s erection.

Dan wouldn’t look away, he would hold Jones’s gaze as he wrapped his lips tight and hot around the head of his cock, sucking gently while pinning his hips to the mattress with his large, warm hands. Jones wouldn’t look away either, he’d twist his fingers in Dan’s messy hair and watch as Dan swallowed around him, taking him all the way down his throat.

Jones can’t hold back anymore. He fists his own cock, running his thumb over the slit to collect the gathering moisture there and strokes himself hard and fast, in time with the thumping beat thundering through his headphones. The music and the Dan in his mind work together seamlessly; he imagines the impatient moan Dan would make in the back of his throat, he wouldn’t be able to hear it, but the vibrations would send tiny sparks of pleasure down his spine, merging perfectly with the pounding bass line so Jones would feel it through his entire body.

Jones strokes himself harder, his free hand sliding between his legs to cup his balls, only in his mind it’s Dan who’s doing it, rolling them carefully between his fingers, and sucking him relentlessly in time with the rhythm of the music. Then there’s a break in the song, a burst of feedback, and dreamDan pulls back, jerking Jones off with his fist and craning his neck to mouth the sensitive skin of his perineum, and Jones draws his knees up and spreads his legs wider, eyes shut tight, and imagines how Dan’s scratchy stubble would feel like against his balls and the insides of his thighs, and how Dan’s hair would brush against his spit-slick cock.

There’s the sound of a needle hitting plastic as a crudely looped Clash sample whispers through the headphones, getting louder and louder, and in his mind, Dan licks his way back up Jones’s cock before taking it back into his mouth. The sample is interrupted by the static crackle of a jack plug being jammed into a cheap amp and suddenly Jones is coming, intense and messy all over his own hand and stomach. Dan would suck him through it, though, and then he’d crawl up Jones’s body and kiss him, and Jones would taste himself on Dan’s tongue.

Still buzzing with muted pleasure, Jones drags his fingers through the sticky release on his stomach, letting his mind float on the remains of his fantasy and on the pitched-down bass drum beating in time with his heart.

When he catches his breath, Jones opens his eyes. Dan is standing there in the doorway, staring openly, his eyes dark and hungry.


	2. All Fired Up

Dan hadn’t meant to walk in on Jones.

He’d forgotten the draft of an article he’d been writing on Jones’s laptop, and he had tried phoning Jones several times to get him to email the file, but Jones never picked up, forcing Dan to grab his jacket, borrow Ned’s USB flash drive and come all the way back to the flat.

The laptop had been in Jones’s bedroom, and the door had been closed. Dan had knocked quietly a few times and had whispered Jones’s name through the door, and when he hadn’t heard anything, he had figured Jones was asleep, so he cracked the door open as quietly as possible, with the intention of sneaking in, grabbing the computer, and getting out without waking him.

Jones is not asleep.

Dan has seen Jones naked plenty of times – after Dan moved in, he quickly discovered that Jones has absolutely no shame, and has no qualms about wandering between his bedroom and the bathroom in the nude, seemingly blissfully unaware of the way Dan always awkwardly averts his gaze. But _this_ is so far away from a bit of casual nudity, it’s practically on a whole other planet.

There is Jones, spread out over his duvet, his huge headphones clamped over his ears, his eyes closed, having what looks like the best wank of his life.

Dan wants to turn around, close the door, and possibly pour bleach in his brain to get rid of the image, because, fuck, that is going to haunt him for the rest of his life. But he also really, _really_ wants to walk in, knock Jones’s hands away and replace them with his own. Make him open his eyes and look directly into Dan’s as he comes. 

While Dan stands there like a statue, caught between two opposing forces, Jones arches his neck, the tip of his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, and suddenly he’s coming, and Dan couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

Dan watches him shudder through his climax, watches him slump back boneless against the pillows, watches the rise and fall of his chest as he recovers, and he really needs to get the hell out before he’s seen, but… 

It’s too late. Jones has opened his eyes.

There is a long moment of silence as they stare at each other across the room and Dan is paralysed, not trusting himself to move. 

Jones pulls the headphones from around his head and tosses them aside but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he make any attempt to cover himself. His skin is flushed from his chest all the way up to his cheekbones, his eyes still clouded from the afterglow, but he’s staring right back at Dan, unashamed, challenging. Jones’s right hand, which had been resting in the trail of dark hair from his navel to his softening cock, slowly drags all the way up his chest to his mouth. He holds Dan’s gaze as he brushes his lower lip with his thumb, then slides his index and middle fingers into his mouth, sucking his own come off of his fingers.

Lust slams through Dan like a tidal wave, and before his brain has time to catch up with his body, he’s crossing the room in three long strides and Jones is moving, too, getting up on his knees and shuffling to the edge of the bed, and suddenly they’re face to face, close enough that Dan can feel Jones’s breath on his face and smell the faint musk of sex and sweat emanating from him.

Without thinking, he closes his hand over Jones’s upper arm, pulling him a fraction closer, but this isn’t what he’s meant to be doing – he’s supposed to walk out of the room, shut the door, go back to work, and pretend he hasn’t just walked in on his flatmate jerking off. 

Jones pushes up against him, one hand pressed against Dan’s chest but making no move to shake off his grip. He’s looking at Dan through his sweaty hair, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips, as if daring Dan to go on, daring him to take what he wants.

Dan knows he’s probably going to regret this later, but it’s gone too far now, he’s been fighting with this desire for too long to stop. He pulls Jones forward and kisses him, open-mouthed and feverish, their mouths not quite lined up, teeth clicking together. He sucks Jones’s tongue into his mouth, and he tastes candy and the slightly stale taste of coffee and something else, something tangy and unfamiliar, and he can’t hold back a strangled sort of moan when he realizes that it’s the taste of his come.

The music coming through Jones’s discarded headphones is so loud that Dan can hear every dissonant note from across the bed, even above the sound of their panting breaths and over his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

“Are we gonna have sex now, Dan?” Jones murmurs against his lips, smiling, sliding his fingers below the waistband of Dan’s boxers.

Dan cups his hand over Jones’s cheek and leans in for another kiss to stop him talking, feeling Jones’s stubble rough against his palm. His face is usually smooth but he obviously hasn’t bothered to shave since the day before, and the burning scratch is unexpected and oddly thrilling, a sharp reminder that this is _Jones_ , and that Dan doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

Jones seems to have a pretty clear plan, though, because he’s already hooking his fingers under the hem of Dan’s t-shirt and pulling it over his head, then leans up to nip at Dan’s lips, groping Dan’s erection through his jeans. There’s nothing tender about this, a fact for which Dan is grateful – because tenderness feels too much like pity, and that’s not what Dan wants from Jones, never has been. He wants desire, he wants Jones to _want_ him.

“It’s you I was thinking about, just now,” Jones says, rubbing his nose against the bristly stubble on Dan’s jaw.

“Shut up,” Dan says in a choked voice, curling his fingers in Jones’s dark hair.

“It’s true,” he continues, undaunted, trailing kisses down Dan’s neck until his lips are pressed against his jugular, and he must be feeling how fast Dan’s heart is beating, in double time to Jones’s music. “I was thinking about my cock in your mouth.”

Dan inhales sharply, and suddenly he’s picturing it too, Jones’s cock heavy against his tongue, the taste of it, the noises Jones would make. His mouth floods with saliva and his own cock twitches against Jones’s palm. Dan’s fingers tighten in Jones’s hair and he pulls his head back just enough to look him in the eye.

“Christ, Jones—…”

“You want me to show you? Show you what you were doing to me?” he murmurs, and he chuckles, low and dirty at the embarrassing sound that escapes Dan’s lips.

Without waiting for an answer, Jones is moving back a little bit, but only so he can sit on the edge of the bed with his knees on either side of Dan’s legs, and reaches for his belt. Dan’s brain is slowing, the edge of his thoughts blurry, out of focus.

“What’re you doing?” he asks dumbly, and considering that Jones is divesting him of his trousers and boxers and pulling him by the hips until Dan’s standing flush against the bed, between Jones’s knees, it’s a pretty fucking stupid question.

“Sucking you off,” Jones replies easily.

Dan opens his mouth to say something else, but the words die on his lips when Jones flattens his tongue against the vein on the underside of his cock. Dan’s hands fly to Jones’s shoulders, gripping tightly to steady himself, and he tries to remember to breathe.

Jones seems in no hurry at all, licking long stripes up one side and down the other, one hand wrapped around the base of Dan’s erection, his other hand fondling Dan's balls in much the same way he wastouchinghimself when Dan walked in. He laps at the head occasionally, with no clear pattern, occasionally glancing up at Dan through his fringe, and Dan has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from coming right away because this is too good to be true, and he wants it to last just a bit longer. Just when he’s starting to get used to the feeling, and starts getting a bit impatient at the teasing licks, Dan feels Jones’s hot mouth all around him, and a hard sucking pressure that nearly makes his knees buckle. His eyes snap back open, and the sight of Jones with his mouth full, his clear blue eyes locked with Dan’s, is so fucking hot that Dan knows he’ll be jerking off to that image for _years_.

The wet sounds of Jones suckling at him reach his ears and Dan suddenly realizes that Jones is bobbing his head in time to the beat that’s still thumping through the headphones. A choked laugh escapes Dan’s lips, but it turns into a startled gasp when Jones slides his hand between Dan’s legs to rub the tip of his index finger against Dan’s hole, slowly circling the tight ring of muscle.

Dan bucks, hissing in surprise, and he can feel Jones chuckle in the back of his throat and the combined sensations prove to be too much to handle. He comes with a stuttered groan, mouth hanging open and thighs trembling.

Jones swallows around him expertly, with an ease that means he’s definitely done this before, and when Dan is too limp to do more than grasp feebly at his shoulders, Jones lets his cock slip out of his mouth with a wet, obscene sound and guides him to lieon his back in the middle of the bed. He crawls up Dan’s body to kiss him, and it’s good, languid and slow, and the fact that Dan can taste his own come on Jones’s tongue is much less disturbing than it should be _. I could get used to this_ , Dan thinks fleetingly, stroking Jones’s back and enjoying the little sighs Jones is making into their kiss.

Dan thinks that maybe he should be panicking, but he feels too drowsy and boneless to work up the energy. 

“This is much better than you puking on my shoes,” Jones finally says, smiling against Dan’s lips.

“Much,” Dan agrees.


End file.
